


Bow To No One

by HecoHansen31



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Battle, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Mention of sex, Misogyny, Mutilation, Nudity, Past Abuse, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24112117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HecoHansen31/pseuds/HecoHansen31
Summary: Tasked with the impossibility goal of directing the tiles of a war, you aren't exactly taken in account, till an unlikely alley, comes and changes everything for you, giving you the option of reaching for the future you have been promised.
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Reader
Kudos: 10





	Bow To No One

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N): Hey guys!  
> This is a rather... different work from my usual one!  
> I have a confession to make: I am a Sarah J. Maas fan, a proud one.  
> And since I have been starting to write for the Vikings fandom, I have been low key interested into writing something mixed with my passion for these books.  
> Since I don't think that there are many other Maas fans (but if you are: I love you), I wanted to give you a small summary about this world, which will make you enjoy this piece more.  
> Let's start with the fact that in this world, there are FAERIES and humans.  
> Faes differenciate themselves in lesser Fae (which are usually smaller faeries) and Faes, which are full-blooded and full powered faeries, that WILL KICK YOUR ASS.  
> Instead in the lesser Faes there are Illyrians, which are Faes with wings (and the wingspan equals the size of you-know-what down there) and misogyny (women in lllyrian culture are usually housewife and childer-bearers (plus their wings are clipped to keep them obbedient...). Reader is half Fae (from mom's side) and half-Illyrian (dad's side).  
> The Faes are divided in courts (7) and their rulers are called 'high lords'.  
> All you have to know about this is that the Night Court (reader's one, since Illyrians belong in that one, and its high lord is Rhysand/Rhys, meanwhile the leader of the Illyrian armies is Cassian, and his mate Nesta, is reader's dearest friend) has had many many problems with the Autumn Court and alongside this... I created a few things: such as the civil war that has happened through the Illyrians and the one between the Night Court and Autumn Court, that is my doing!  
> In the Night Court there is also a smaller court which is called the Court of Nightmares, that belongs with the Night Court, but lately has been siding with the Autumn Court.  
> So I think that it all, but if you are unsure about anything... let me know!

You were bathing with your fellow soldier when the messenger came to announce you that the war lords had started the war council without notifying you, in the slightest.

Something that wasn’t the first time that had happened.

But you hadn’t raised to the grade of Illyrian general, just to be disrespected like that.

You hadn’t survived an entire training camp with Nesta Archeron on your side, rescued the Commander of the Illyrian armies and completed the blood ritual just to be treated as some commoner, when your small army had been vital to the war that had raged against the Court of Nightmares.

Cassian had been obliged to leave the entire problematic to the Illyrians, not only for the wounds that still pained him after the civil war, but also because he was busy fighting against the Court of Autumn, with a smaller part of the Night Court army.

The Court of Autumn had allied with Court of Nightmares against the high lord Rhysand, in a war that had been shaking all his territories, although the high lord had been able to spare some time to set up everything, after he had been warned by Eris.

And all the warlords had been called to defend Illyria, the first territory that had been attacked, left weak by the civil war that had been happening not too much ago.

Hence, as the new lady of Ylnian you had been ‘gently’ asked to join the cause.

Cassian had personally recommended you to the lords, but you knew what you truly were for him: his eyes and ears, meanwhile the rebellion went on, to try to keep things at bay and avoid the civil war sparkling up new embers of disobedience.

But you couldn’t do much.

You and your army, since your arrival, had been asked to appear only on the battlefield, almost banned from entering any war council, and most of the time the lords didn’t approach you.

Which wasn’t such a loss, since you were able to spy on them more calmly, examining the link of powers behind every relationship, something that was then poured on your letters to Nesta, and read to Cassian.

For now, you had been able to map out two areas of influence: the Ragnarssons, heir to a legacy that brought them to own half and more of Illyrian and Harald Finehair.

Your true father.

You had been thankful he hadn’t mentioned it and hadn’t even tried to approach you since your arrival, when you had walked in with your army on the first day as you processed to map out the settlement.

You had asked for his help during the civil war and he still hadn’t named his price.

But for now, he’d certainly appreciate you keeping quiet on your origin.

And you were glad to present yourself as an orphan who had grown into the power she now owned.

Certainly, nobody would have been happy to discover that you mother stood with the Court of Nightmares, in this war.

You had had enough time to observe the Ragnarssons still and you had been able to observe that they were five, from different mothers.

The firstborn being Bjorn Ironside, daughter of the legendary warrior Lagertha, stayed with her shieldmaiden to guard the houses of Illyria and the last one was Ivar The Boneless, tales of his deformation having travelled also to the Court of Nightmares, when you had lived there.

They were the one who fought for power, in a shift of dynamics that brought many fights out, something that you had been looking at closely, trying to find whether it might result in a new rebellion.

Or if it was just two males having a pissing contest to mark their territory.

And you had enough of it.

You exited the waters of the river you had been allowed to bathe in, guarded by your fellow friends who had had a turn before you to avoid any snoopers, since you were basically the only females in the settlement.

And many men had tried to persuade you in sleeping with them.

One day your right hand, Hella, had broken the hand of the somebody who had tried to grab her ass.

And when you had been brought in court for that, you had simply suggested they cut off his hand, for having tried to touch what wasn’t his.

It was fun scandalizing men.

You felt the eyes of your fellow soldiers onto you, tiredness and anger shining in them, as the messenger, a girl no older than thirteen and as thin as you had been at her age, asked if she should let your handmaidens know that you needed to get ready for it.

But if you had stopped to get yourself dried and in a dress, you would have wasted enough time that the war council would have been already over, because if you had to guess… they had already started without you.

So, you simply dried your naked body, before pushing your red mantle onto your bare figure, shielding what little modesty you had, but careful at hiding the stumps where your wings had been.

Another reason why you were happy of fighting against the Court of Nightmares.

After you had done this, you gestured to the messenger to guide you to where the war council was meant to be, finding yourself soon in a crowded tent, smelling of rotten beer and sweat.

You hid your face further in the hood of the mantle, as the messenger left you to return to her chores, tipped by you with an argent piece that she made disappear in the fold of her clothes.

Nobody noticed your presence, as you shifted closer to where all the war lords sat, walking through the area where their advisors stood, consulting each other, as they didn’t notice your slender figure, making your way through the seated spots.

You heard screams and immediately understood that there were disagreements.

The civil war hadn’t solely taken many men and forces, but it had also left deep wounds in the trust of the people of Illyria.

As you reached the thrones, you knocked down one, creating enough noise that it didn’t take them long till all eyes were on you, and your hidden figure.

Had it happened a year ago, you would have shifted away from all those eyes, but now you bathed in them, as you straightened your pose with the title which you had gained through blood and sweat, hang on your head.

You didn’t care if they hated you, if they didn’t respect you and they thought you were nothing more than a whore that got lucky.

You’d be heard.

You had already done enough begging and bowing, in your life.

“… why wasn’t I told that the war council would be happening?” you asked, your voice calm, not wanting to give them any excuse for any inappropriate comment, such as ‘are you on bloody moon?’ “… am I not a war lady?”.

“Lady (Y/N)” acknowledged you Bjorn as he shot you a quick look, immediately taking in your unusual dressing “… we didn’t think…”.

“Doesn’t it concern me” you spoke slowly, almost as with an assuming child “… the fate of my people?”.

“They aren’t your people” whispered tightly a lord with a grimace on his face “… your mother was a Fae whore”.

“I am not here to hear my mother getting insulted” you hissed, your mantle opening lightly on your front and you saw that all the males’ eyes shifted to your curves but you simply returned to your discourse “… I don’t think that you’d insult lord Bjorn’s mother, would you, lord Sigrid?”.

Laughter raised, as Bjorn and lord Sigrid looked uncomfortable, and you simply shifted your head to your audience.

“I have every right of standing in a war council as any of the other war lord. I have fought beside Commander Cassian and survived the blood ritual, enough to candidate myself to the role of lady and I am a truthful lieutenant of the army”.

It was good to remind to men that you weren’t a simple meek lady.

You had fought to get to the point you were now.

You had been lucky to have had the chance to prove yourself, but past that… everything you had achieved was yours.

And you turned to assure yourself that every lord had understood it.

Your eyes suddenly shifting on the most beautiful pair of the entire room: Ivar The Boneless’ ones, so light and frail, enough to be considered gems without a doubt.

And you lost yourself a bit, in them.

You hadn’t been attracted by anybody after Peter, but you couldn’t help but be slightly embarrassed as Ivar withhold your gaze, arrogance mixed with curiosity and interest in his eyes.

“… don’t make something like this happen, anymore” you tried to reign in the discourse, pushing your gaze onto Bjorn, glad that your eyes didn’t find him as enticing as his brother “… or I’ll march out with my army. Because what you are telling me, ignoring my presence and my title, is that you don’t need it to win this war”.

It was an empty threat.

You were under strict orders by the Commander to stay and remain till the war was over.

But it felt good to see their bodies shiver at that threat.

As much as they didn’t approve of a woman in power, they approved even less of you dictating what you could and couldn’t do about your army, alongside the fact that all your warriors had been carefully trained, and helped with their powers the army.

When you were convinced of having done a good effect on all of them, you sat down on the first empty throne, comfortably.

And then with a quick gesture of your hands, you told them to continue.

* * *

After the rough experience of the war council, disgusted by the suggestions of a few men as you exited the tent, as they tried to catch a glimpse under your mantle, you had gone to shoot a few arrows, something that always comforted you.

And you managed to confess everything that had happened in the war council to Hella, your second in command who had just listened as you ranted about the unfairness of you not being even allowed to intervene, as you shoot arrows right in the bullseye, your light fire powers burning the ground under your feet.

Hella wasn’t in the slightest as hotheaded as you.

She was twice as much.

But she knew better than to act out without thinking at first.

Back when she worked as a house slave, it had costed her a hand.

She tried to still comfort you, not with sweet words, but pushing you to give more and try more, as you planned how to involve your army and lands more in the rooms where power was discussed.

When your arms started to hurt, you and Hella decided to go back to the tent, thinking that sleep might be a better advisor than your tired limbs, as you joked lightly and giggled, allowing a bit of feminine charm through your teeth.

But when you arrived to the tent, you found Eline, your smallest handmaiden who rushed to you with true worry in her eyes, as she carried a vase of clean water for you to wash your sweat off.

“… I am sorry, lady (Y/N)!” she babbled worried “… I knew that I had strict rules about not allowing anyone inside of your tent but…”.

And before she could finish her discourse, Hella rushed in the tent, checking for you whether a danger had walked in or not, as you comforted a crying Eline, promising her that ‘she had done the absolute best job’.

And then Hella peaked her heard over the tent flap, her eyes showing annoyance, but she told you to move forward and you thought it was either lord Sigrid wanting to tell you to ‘fuck off’ or Harald telling you that you shouldn’t have brought so much attention on yourself.

Surprisingly: it was neither of the two.

But Ivar The Boneless was waiting for you, sat on the only chair in your tent, his eyes kept low, although you could see that he was spying you with the side of them, as you walked in, giving Eline the order to get back to her quarters.

Hella’s hand pushed onto her knife.

But you quieted, as Ivar’s attention shifted onto you, again, in his eyes, arrogance mixed with the obvious interest he had for you.

Strangely, not solely because you had walked in a war council with nothing more than a mantle.

“Lady (Y/N)” he welcomed you, as if he owned the place, pushing himself up, on unsteady legs, helped by his crutch, as he bowed in a mocking bow, but you mimicked his gestures, as you breathed out an annoyed hiss.

“Lord Ivar” you welcomed him, setting yourself onto a wood log you used as a bench, Hella remaining onto next to the exit with a wary attitude “… what might a man of your kind do here?”.

“My brothers sent me to give you a peace offering” he mumbled, as he sat down, and got out a pretty bottle from behind him, something that made your eyes sparkle, as you noticed it was expensive wine.

You hadn’t had a taste of it in so long.

But yet, you reigned yourself in, as Hella came to grab the bottle, to check it.

She was distrusting by nature and sometimes you thought she was exaggerated, but you always trusted her judgement and her willingness to sacrifice herself for you was something that you hoped would never happen.

She drank straight from the bottle, as Ivar sent you an outraged look, but you just feigned innocence, before Hella gave you a small approving nod, and you muttered gently to ‘give the bottle to the girls’.

You hadn’t time for wine, but it might help their mood.

Also this was Hella’s clue to leave you alone, although she shot you an angered look, but she did obey your order, with a violent close of the flap of the tent, effectively leaving you alone with the man who owned the most beautiful pair of eyes in Illyria.

It was beyond yourself why Ivar The Boneless wasn’t married, when he had a title to offer and the very intention to set himself onto the throne.

He’d need some secure ties with other camps to make them approve his cause.

Certainly, his deformation wasn’t comfortable to look at and neither to live with, but he seemed to have so much more to offer.

Enough that your eyes didn’t even reach his legs, staying on the strength in his wings, tightened by the need to carry the dead weight of his legs.

Had Nesta been there you’d have allowed yourself to joke about that impressive wingspan.

“… what are you truly here for, lord Ivar” you told him, once you were alone, leaving out any pretense of gentleness, as you unlaced your boots, your feet aching for a bit of relief, out of the uncomfortable shoes.

“You aren’t one for small talk, are you, lady (Y/N)?” a devious smirk appeared on his lips as his eyes ranked over your body and you asked yourself whether he was imagining what he had caught glimpse of in the war council.

And you couldn’t help but blush, a wave of vanity appearing in your body.

To be looked by such a beautiful and powerful man was truly a magnificent experience.

But you had passed the courtly courting.

You wanted to be respected.

“Are you here because you liked what you saw in that council room?” you tried him, as you lightly moved so that your pants raised a bit onto your tanned skin “… because a bottle of wine might not be enough to buy me”.

‘… and neither will all your riches’ your eyes told him.

And he was more than happy to let out a genuine smirk as his eyes moved away from your body, as they shifted in your eyes.

“You aren’t one that is swayed easily, that is as much as I know” he spoke calmly, as a predator examining his prey “… but except that? Not much. You are an orphan who lived enough to get a chance to meet the great Commander and then settled herself in a lady’s position”.

“Luck blessed me” you simply uttered, as you distracted yourself from his strong eyes lowering lightly your gaze onto your hands as you looked at the metallic band that was the sole link that you had with Harald.

The band that he had fashioned for your mother.

Had she chosen to marry him.

It fit your finger perfectly, enough that you never took it out.

“… there is no such thing as Luck” he mumbled, surprising you and for a moment you hoped and tried with all your strength to hold back the fear of having been discovered “… there is only us against an unjust Destiny, which we can fight solely with our hands and blood”.

“What do you mean with this?”.

It was confusing.

His entire attitude contrasting.

The arrogance he showed and the utterly vulnerability his words spoke of.

As if they were part of him.

“… that we aren’t so different” it was barely a whisper, but it was enough to make you raise your eyebrows “… we aren’t heard, as we scream, and we are thought to be inferior”.

“And what would you do about that?” you had a good idea about what he’d ask of you, but humored yourself with the knowledge, as you sent him a sarcastic laugh, something that always made any man discouraged from asking more of you.

Because you wanted this meeting to end.

But at the same time, you wanted and wished to know what was behind his captivating mind.

“I want us to work together” he proposed, genuine interest now shining in his eyes “… the councils are getting annoying, as we stall about whether attacking or not, and I know that you ache to attack the Court of Nightmares, like me”.

You had been.

But you weren’t sure it was for the right reasons.

Cassian had ordered to Illyrian lord to fight against the nightmarish armies, but to keep themselves in a defensive position, with no direct attack in the territories of the Court of Nightmares.

But it was slowly moving into a straining fight, hadn’t you been able to stop the communication and resources of the enemy line.

Because although you were losing your resources quickly, the Court of Nightmares could count on a perfect web for them, effectively being able to send their men to die and hide behind their forts.

But it would have meant attacking them.

And it might not have been not only as successful as you might think, but also it might be thought as an involvement of the Night Court truly, to all the other courts.

An act of the war that had just begun.

“… I am waiting for further orders” you mumbled simply.

You almost wished that you still had the wine to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth.

“You suggested attacking Mercia, at the council” you hadn’t thought anybody had listened to your idea “I agree, they have been exposing themselves too much not to be hurt”.

“You are absolutely not saying this because they were the ones who killed your father, are you?” you replied to his discourse, well aware of your sources on the Ragnarssons.

Ragnar Lothbrock had been killed the previous year during the civil war by lord Aella, when he had tried to take back some lands that neared with his.

That been the main reason why the Lothbrocks hadn’t taken part in the civil war but wanted to play a decisive part in this one.

Ivar had been with him, or so you had heard, during his crazy idea of gaining back what Ragnar thought was rightfully his.

It was the reason why he was so dead set on avenging his father and reigning the tides of this war.

He sent you an annoyed look, rolling his eyes at you, but you could feel that he had his own reasons to invade Mercia and you wouldn’t have held it against him.

“… don’t you have reasons of your own to want Mercia gone?”.

“As everyone else, because I know it’ll ease the pressure on us” you shot back, adjusting with your back straighter so that you could assume a queenlier appearance “… that is all”.

“I don’t trust that” he uttered, and you felt hit deep inside, but tried not to let him see “… but I can work with that. I’ll get them to attack Mercia”.

“That’s adorable” you muttered lightly “… Ivar The Boneless, you know as well as I how ‘easy’ it is for us to be taken seriously”.

“I will” and although you had undervalued him, his voice was steady as his eyes who found yours “… and then you’ll believe me”.

“Even better” you grimaced lightly, before an idea appeared in your mind “… if you get them to let us attack Mercia, I’ll pass a night with you”.

His eyes opened so widely that you were sure they would have rolled off his orbs, but you didn’t grace him with anything else than a last look, before you turned, getting ready for bed, as if he wasn’t there, till you heard him moving away.

Apparently, you had made an unlike alley.

* * *

Your alliance with Ivar had started reaping its fruits quite early.

Not solely because you had the chance to ogle at him, but suddenly the Ragnarssons seemed to ask for your opinion on everything and you heard Mercia being mentioned in their plans, although they wouldn’t go further than the simple mention.

And you didn’t understand if Ivar was doing for his own personal plans or for having the privilege of spending a night with you.

You had started spending your evenings together, planning a hypothetical attack as you moved pieces on a chess board as you played the enemy lines, knowing it far better than he expected.

It was nice because Ivar would treat you as a peer, certainly not abandoning the innuendoes, but he treated you exactly like another soldier, something that made you smirk softly as he tried to get you to confess your secrets just for you to expose his.

The banter felt good and it kept your mind active, as the strategical aspect of your conversation.

But slowly you were coming closer to each other, something that was dangerous if you wanted to keep your identity a secret.

And then that morning, Hella came in your tent screaming about how ‘you had to get ready because you were going to take Mercia’ and you couldn’t help but feel that excitement you had always had in your guts vanish, followed by fear and uncertainty.

Would you be able to get back the kingdom that had been promised to you?

You hoped.

Because if you didn’t, it wouldn’t have been solely a lost cause for you, but also for your army and you couldn’t afford a bad strategy when you were already in so much shit with the other lords.

It might be a daring move, but you hoped it paid off.

You and the others met with the Ragnarssons and the king of Vestfold, to set up planning and strategy, although you were sure that you wouldn’t have a problem overcoming the Mercian army.

Even more if Aelle guided it.

That poor arrogant fool would have kept his city locked in by his guards and sent a third of his army to fight you, since he thought that Illyrians were nothing but brutes who fought with head over spikes.

He didn’t think that you’d come to him organized and united.

Which is what you did, to his surprise.

You caught a glimpse of a smirking Ivar, as you moved closer, meanwhile Hella ordered the army to take position, following you closely.

“I managed to keep my part of our deal” he simply mumbled, again that arrogant smirk making you want to slap him…

… or kiss him.

The jury was still out on whether he’d be a good lover or not, but certainly he wouldn’t be a boring one.

“… I’ll let you sleep with me, if we can survive today” you mumbled, as you felt Hella take a sharp breath, before she ducked her head, sheepishly, but Ivar gave no sign of having heard your foolish words.

“Good luck, lady (Y/N)” he simply muttered, his hand moving to reach out for yours, as you caught his with a steely grip.

“To you, too, my prince”.

And then you separated, as you moved back to your army, Hella sending you a disapproving look and you simply shook your head

“C’mon don’t tell me that you, also, don’t want to try that wingspan!” you tried to joke to calm the air around you, feeling as if it was almost choking you.

You moved to the battlefield, as you regarded the hill where Aelle would have brought his men.

“… I do think that sometimes Cassian put yourself in that position because you are as reckless as him” she simply muttered, as she moved away a few loose strands of red hair from her face, pushing them to the side and adjusting them in a swift ponytail, as you did the same to have your visual clear.

You had to be able to focus on the enemy perfectly, to aim properly, as an archer.

“Don’t undervalue me, Hella” you remembered her “… I know how risky this all can be, I don’t take anything with less seriousness than it is proper”.

You promised softly, as she searched your hand gripping it tight, before facing you.

“And I am with you in this” she replied, with a tender look “… and just you wait till I tell Nesta that you offered your virtue that way!”.

“Please don’t! She’ll kill him, before I get the chance to take a proper look at that glorious manhood” you retorted softly, as she smirked at you, mimicking that her lips were sealed.

But you were glad for this distraction.

And then the storm started.

* * *

Your shoulder was broken, you were sure.

It must be, with the way it hurt like a burning fire piercing through your skin.

Hella sent you a light look, as she raised herself from the ground she had fallen on, her legs tired and barely able to keep her upright.

But you were still able to fight and keep yourself walking, as the Illyrians regrouped to go and invade the city that now was left uncovered, and as you secured your right hand to the healers, you joined the lords that hadn’t been injured heavily.

They all regarded you with some kind of fearful respect, and you were more than glad to bash yourself in their acknowledgement, before you made it clear that conquering Mercia right now wouldn’t have been easy.

‘We have defeated good part of their army!’ uttered victoriously Ubbe ‘… I say we strike the iron till it’s hot’.

“I know that Aelle hasn’t brought the entirety of his army, believe me. He left it to guard Mercia, and they’ll fresh and energetic, whereas we are lost and tired” you tried to protest sending a quick look to the dead bodies on the ground.

All equals once dead.

“Then we kill everyone who puts himself trough us and Mercia” replied ardently Hvitserk, and you almost wanted to slap the moronic youth from him, but even more from Ivar who agreed, about the plan, wanting that glory.

“I do think that you are acting like boys on your first raid” mumbled, putting himself between you and them, Harald, and you were surprised to know that he was supporting your suggestion, although his eyes didn’t meet yours “… we are tired and we don’t know what to expect”.

“… we aren’t retiring, we have proved ourselves” you spoke calmly “… we’ll move in three days, not enough for the entire court to realize that Aelle is gone, but enough to find more about them”.

And although they looked at you begrudgingly, they eventually accepted it, comforted by the tortures they could put Aelle’s body through, something that made you nauseous, although he deserved it.

The stumps of your wings lightly itching at the thought of it.

Eventually they set back to reach the settlements, and as you were turning to do the same, Harald walked to you, again his eyes not meeting yours, scared to catch a glimpse of himself in that girl that was a daughter and a stranger to him.

“Get that shoulder fixed”.

And you did quickly, as you bit in a piece of leather, meanwhile Caroline, your personal healer, pushed the bone in it’s rightful piece, barely able to put battens over your arm, since you insisted on wanting to be and free to exercise in the following days.

‘Do whatever the fuck you want, lady’ she had huffed at your command, but Hella had promised her that she’d make sure you’d wear it at least to bed, comforting her lover, as Carolina kissed her cheeks, glad to know her alive.

And as you walked back in your tent, you weren’t surprised to find Ivar.

“You are seriously determined to get yourself a night with me” you uttered tightly, as you sent him a small smirk, matching the deviousness on his lips.

But his eyes held no arrogance or malice.

Almost as if this was another person, not the Ivar that played with you as a cat toyed with a mouse.

“… I am not” he mumbled, almost as if the words pained him “… I wanted to let you know that we’ll bloody eagle Aelle”.

“Truly romantic” you mumbled “… is this your kind of foreplay?”.

“We aren’t sleeping together, lady (Y/N)” he hissed through his gritted teeth, and although you were taken aback, you tried not to show it “Not now, nor ever”.

“… you are the first man who is denying me” not that you had tried this bet on any other men, since before the training camps, you hadn’t had much chance to meet anybody, and even with Peter, your relationship had kept itself on a more psychological one.

A union of souls.

“I don’t doubt that you’ll console yourself soon enough” he retorted, wounded harshness in his words, almost as if he had been offended by your own.

“If you are going to be such a spiteful company, you should leave my tent” you replied in a truly poisonous tone, because if there was one thing that Nesta Archeron had taught you was that you didn’t lick the wounds in men’s ego.

“King Aelle asked of you” he spoke loudly, as you felt a thrill of fear go through your spine “… ‘the woman, the bitch without the wings’ “.

Of course, he found ways of sabotaging you even when he didn’t know who you truly were!

“… I’ll change and come with you” you mumbled tightly, between your teeth, attentive not to let anything be heard in your voice.

Because as much as your secret wasn’t that harmful, it had always been something that you had always treasured inside your heart, to the point that it was the sole thing that you hadn’t given of yourself.

Nesta and Hella knew it, but they had promised to keep the secret that you had screamed at the top of your lungs once you were so intoxicated that you couldn’t even remember your name.

But even then, alcohol poisoning your senses, you had remembered who you were deep down.

Suddenly Ivar’s grip appeared onto your wrist, luckily not the hurt one.

“Why would an enemy king want to talk with you?” he asked, his eyes shining of distrust and it almost pained you.

Hadn’t the time you had spent with him proved where your loyalties rested?

“… this is none of your business”.

“Then explain to me how an orphan managed to climb all the Illyrian hierarchies, because I can’t understand how you managed to put a title on your head without any help, maybe from the inside or…” his eyes sparkled viciously “… or from the outside”.

“Don’t insult me calling me a traitor” you retorted, your tone calm, but in your eyes raged a storm matching the one in his “… you know nothing, little boy”.

“I know that you certainly aren’t as pure as you claim to be” his insinuation made you almost sick to the stomach, and you quickly freed yourself from his grip, hissing at the pain of having to move the other shoulder.

And then you had enough.

“… he wants to talk with me, because I am the rightful lady of Mercia” your words seemed almost distant, as if they echoed from your heart “… because my mother is the current lady of Mercia who ‘sullied’ herself with an Illyrian king, having me”.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

Something that you didn’t remember.

But Aelle had never made you forget.

Not only for the beatings and the starving, but for your liberty stolen from you.

Ivar seemed confused and surprised, and you pushed him with more ease away from you.

“Aelle thought I was his child, because he married my mother when she had started seeing my father, but when I was five…” you remember the painful nights in which you had felt like your shoulder blades were to split open, and then your wings.

But more than anything you remembered the scared face of your mother and Aelle’s angry one.

“… my mother wasn’t able to hide her secret any longer. Aelle made the entire court believe that I was dead, suddenly taken by a child sickness, but I was to live as a slave, always remembering my mother her sin, and always made to remember what I lost”.

You had never thought that you’d have a chance to the throne, although you should have since your mother had owned the title of Mercia, and it should have been passed to her first child, legitimate or not.

But at the same time, as a slave you had never had the energy to think about a possible riot, who’d believe you and who’d want to help you.

But then the training camps had brought you out and made you bloom.

And now you were so close to taking back your crown.

As Elain The Seer had promised you.

To see Aelle punished for what he had done to you.

“I know I should have told you a long time ago” because Ivar had his own ambitions on Mercia, and you might have ruptured his plan, but at the same time, this was something that made you almost linked “… but I never thought I’d come this close to fulfill this wish”.

You had never thought you’d survive this far.

And even now it seemed a dream.

“I…” Ivar’s words were stuck in his tongue “… you have your own revenge with Aelle”.

“The greatest revenge that I’ll ever get on that man is retaking what is rightfully mine” you spoke, as your hand securely pushed a knife in your bandolier “… that’s why I didn’t join you or your brothers. I don’t have a grudge against his body. He took what is mine, and I want it back”.

Your wings.

Your family.

And your lands.

And then you exited the tent, because you wanted Aelle to know.

To know that you had survived.

Not only survived but bloomed.

And that in three days you’d take his crown.

But as you were moving in the darkness outside the tent, Ivar’s hands shot again to your wrist, and as you turned around, you finally felt the tears that had fallen on your cheeks.

“… I am sorry for thinking you were a traitor” he mumbled tightly, almost as if it costed him to say the words “… I didn’t…”.

“I don’t want your pity” you replied through your gritted teeth, almost growling at him, as you felt stupid for your emotional response.

“I am the sole person that won’t give you any pity” he mumbled, as if he knew himself something behind what you were talking about “… I am a heartless bastard, am I not?”.

“You fucking are” you whispered tightly, feeling yourself a bit calmer as Ivar sent you a light smile, his grip on your wrist becoming loose, but the pads of his hands still brushed against your arm, making a light shrill of excitement go down your spine.

“… a true lady”.

You knew that he was shifting the attention away from your fight and you allowed him to happen.

As his hands lightly shifted to yours, taking it in his.

* * *

Facing Aelle had been tough, but you had been glad to have done it.

Glad to have faced the man that had ruined your life and told him what you had always wished to say.

‘Fucking bitch!’ he had called you, as Ivar dragged away his brothers, something for which you were grateful, although you had had to leave the weapons outside, since Ivar had clearly said, he wanted to be the one who made Aelle drew his last breath.

You had to admit that hadn’t you been completely oppressed by the thought of Aelle, you would have more than likely brought him to bed, even if he didn’t want to actually take your offer.

That bloody revenge and dark ambition making you ache pleasurably between your legs.

“You shouldn’t insult the only thing that is stopping them from butchering you open” you didn’t delude yourself to think that he’d actually beg for you to spare him.

Not that you had any intention about doing it.

“You were always a fucking nuisance!” he screamed again, trying to push against the restraints on his hands and legs.

He was exposed on a table as a pig, ready to be slaughtered and hadn’t you lost any ability to feel pity towards that swine you would have almost felt bad for his honor completely shredded.

“… it isn’t my fault that I was born this way” you spoke, knowing exactly what he blamed on you “… and I don’t fault you for not wanting me on your kingdom”.

You couldn’t.

If you had been in his place, you would have probably killed the illegitimate child, to avoid any rebellion and making their life as bad as yours.

“But you took something very precious from me”.

Your wings.

And alongside that your freedom.

“… you’ll be nothing but an Illyrian whore” he spat, right on your face as you lowered lightly yourself to be able to face him.

“And you’ll be a dead king…” you retorted as you moved out to dip your hand onto his chin to make sure he looked at you in the eyes, to be the last thing he’ll ever see “… a nobody, not even your family will remember you”.

“I created a fucking legacy!” he replied, again spit hitting your face and you pushed your grip onto his throat.

The temptation of shutting him up for ever definitely coursing through your veins.

But you were better than him.

You’d have fun knowing that he was getting chopped in pieces as you slept peacefully.

“I’ll take your legacy in three days” you promised him “… I am the rightful heir to Mercia, and believe me… I’ll do a better job than you”.

And like that you turned around, your step steady, as you came face to face with the Ragnarssons, admiration in their looks, but you didn’t feel better.

In the slightest.

* * *

As Ivar slithered in your bed, you knew you shouldn’t have allowed him, in it.

This was much more dangerous than the fuck you had promised him.

But you let him come closer to you, the smell of soap reassuring you as he gently enveloped you in a loose hug, although you could almost see the stain of blood that had been on his hands.

The blood of Aelle.

Was it wrong to cuddle against such a murderer?

But as you came closer to him, you couldn’t help but believe that you weren’t anything more than two young people searching a bit of warmth in a life that had taken and taken by them.

The words escaped your mouth:

“… I didn’t… when the wings came out, I was so scared, I thought I was sick…” you felt Ivar snicker slightly against your skin, as you shushed him with a light look, shot blindly in the dark, as he set himself onto your naked shoulder “… and then I understood what they were and… also Aelle did… he wanted to kill me, but my mother got in the way and…”.

This was the hardest part, because they were your fondest and worst memories of your childhood.

Ivar’s wet nose, due to the humidity outside of the tent, brought you back, keeping you grounded something for which you were extremely grateful, as you searched for his eyes, shining in the dark of your intimacy, as you came closer to him, your lips almost touching.

“… my mother allowed me one last flight” you felt Ivar take a sharp intake of breath “… it was the only time it happened, before they… it just… it just made me feel like I lost more”.

And then tears again started dripping down your cheeks, and Ivar hugged you closer, holding you through that stormy night.

His lips on your forehead and his hands tight on your waist.

You had survived this.

You’d get through this.

And you’d get your freedom back.


End file.
